The level to which the staff is complacent with our activities continues to impress me. I was actually asked by a friend yesterday whether or not the staff got on our case about anything and I replied that not only are our cases left un gotten-on, the staff mostly consists of 20 year-old scrawny guys and chicks who seem apprehensive about entering the weight area for either their jobs or their own fitness pursuits. It's both awesome and kind of pathetic. At the gym I went to during undergrad, the weight room was staffed with mostly knowledgeable students who knew how to spot and were great about hounding people to pick up their weights/unrack plates/not be jerks and leave shit everywhere.
In other words, we can basically do what we want, which is cool because we tend to know how to do what we want without killing ourselves, but some lifters in there seem bent on self-destruction (no safety pins/getting stapled while squatting, benching without any concept of their point of failure, etc) and could probably benefit/survive if someone came up to them in an official capacity and informed them that the risk of death resulting from their own activity was moderate-to-high.
At URI, the staff was located at a desk in the gym, and you could ask for the occasional spot if you so chose.
Our gym is a logistical nightmare; some well-to-do architect was likely handed a $69-million dollar check and instructed to design a "state-of-the-art" building, and he/she equated "state-of-the-art" with open, tiled space and an all-inclusive experience. Because of the variegated nature of the services offered--our gym purportedly has something for even the most fastidious cretin, as it's adorned with a full-size rock wall, a lazy river, a smoothie bar, and other non-essential, gaudy gimmicks--our gym has been separated into a number of rectangular compartments, and these compartments, in an effort to ostensibly spare the delicate sensibilities of the middle-aged alumni crowd, are sectioned off from one another.
The weight room, in other words, has been quartered off from everything else. It sits tucked away in a corner on the first floor. Even the machine and stretching areas on the second and third floors (clearly, these were separated for alumni to play with their non-threatening toys at a remove from the dreaded cacophony of the free-weight area) are quarantined in the corner of the building.
Staff stations on the first floor are located at the front entrance and near the locker rooms. Obstructed sight-lines prevent the staff near the locker room from descrying anything in the free-weight area, and a staircase obstructs the front-entrance staff from noting any barbell-related wrongdoing. The staff are far enough away that even the clanging of a failed squat wouldn't register, and they only come out of their safe havens to, with great trepidation, pick up towels.
The personal training staff is filled with meek fuckwads who break their own rules and manage to bump into your face as you're unracking a heavy squat. None of them will utter a peep, provided you're being reasonably quiet.
Our gym is a playground for unsupervised "adults"--and I use that term very loosely, since most of these so-called adults are developmentally backward country-bumpkin undergrads--and that's how it's treated. It is, at the same time, both tragic and wonderful.